Temptation
by Septimus Butters
Summary: During the Victory Tour, Peeta Mellark begins to question everything he's ever known, and finds solace in an unexpected place...


**Hi again! I've just read The Hunger Games, and I loved it! This is my contribution to all the great fanfics out there. **

**Enjoy!**

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><p>During the Victory Tour, Peeta Mellark begins to question everything he's ever known, and finds solace in an unexpected place...<p>

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><p><strong>Temptation<strong>

The slim blue train raced across the savanna of Panem, wheeshing grey smoke. On the balcony at the end of the train stood a small, stout gent by the name of Peeta Mellark. He was clutching a basket of croissants lovingly as he gazed into the distance, his opticals blue as copper sulphate, his lustrous mane as thick and glossy as Mufasa's.

A marron dame slipped out onto the balcony, accompanied by the pungent pong of carrion and old moss.

Peeta screwed up his nasal but politely said "Good evening."

"I thought I'd find you out here" said Katniss. "I couldn't sleep."

Peeta felt it his duty to offer the girl one of his wares, especially as he felt self conscious, with Katniss looking so slim and tiny whilst he was struggling to keep his gargantuan tum behind the railings. Weight had always been an issue for the dough puncher who couldn't help but scoff up his produce when he should have been washing.

"Want one?" he verbalised reluctantly, tossing the basket at Katniss.

"Nah." the unshaven hobbit slurred "Got my own food." Katniss pulled out a bowl of greasy mutton stew and began to slurp it down.

Peeta rodomontade awkwardly, "Erm… I'd quite like to be alone. Er… with my friends." He said, indicating the Moses receptacle full of Francais pastries.

"ER? WHART?" Katniss bellowed, bits of gravy and spit flying across the balcony and onto Peeta's horrified clock.

"But Peeta," Katniss broached, dragging pieces of gristle from between her molars, "You have no friends except for me!"

Peeta's opticals bulged with the water of tragedy, his chin fluctuating with woe. "Katniss! That's not true."

Katniss could see that she had upset Peeta, but was too much of a daspygal to care. She adjusted her wobbling caboose and torn slacks in a whirlwind of scrabbling claws and foul expulsions. Peeta gagged with despair.

"Well" she jawed sloppily "I'm going!" She stomped back into the train again, her lank shafts pounding like bombastic oil dereks, her slithery tresses heeming behind her loam.

Peeta sighed and waltzed into the carriage himself, making sure he waited a good 20 minutes to avoid bumping into the harsh mujer who had smitten him prior.

"Stupid Katniss!" he quacked "Saying I've got no friends! I'm popular! I'm a ladies man!" He blew a raspberry in disgust and began to bleat disses about the underfed grouchette.

Suddenly, Peeta began to wail. Reality had hit his moist cranium and he felt hopeless.

"Ohhh! She's right!" he roared. "No one likes me! No one likes me!"

He started banging his flaxen noggin against the wall, his peg-legs stamping in anger. Then, he recalled something. Something paramount.

At break-fast, he had been the receiver of an amorous glance. Not from any of the broads at the meal, but from a certain creaking stud; Haymitch Abernathy.

He felt his rear expanding to the size of a hovercraft at the recollection, and he streaked down the corridor of the tren, desperate to talk to Hay about his passion.

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><p>Haymitch's room was as squalid as a hag's beard and as stenchy as a damp monk's under-robes. Old breeks lay willy-nilly on the terra firma, and foul smocks were piled up on the futon. Haymitch was roosting on top of an old chest in a dank vertex, cawing and tanking up bottles of olid grog.<p>

He barely noticed as Peeta crashed through his door, failing to make a quiet entrance as he had planned. The pissed glutton belched his recognition and reached over for another bottle.

Peeta cleared his passage, hoping to get Haymitch's attention

"Got any wine?" the suet-laden loser in the corner slurred.

"No, I have nought but my bod." Peeta quaffed nasally.

Suddenly, Haymitch's groggy oculus flung open, spraying Peeta with putrid pus.

"Oaaauughh! Peeta!" the bumbling hobo crowed with delight.

"hello, Haymitch" Peeta uttered, his sallow cheeks sagging with pleasure. Suddenly, he felt an irepressable urge to walk closer to the repugnant bum in the dingy corner. Haymitch was obese, stank of toxic fumes, and so old he wore adult diapers but Peeta had never been more attracted to anyone in his life.

"Whart you wan'?" Haymitch blipped, squinting like a dead owl.

Even through his intense beer-goggles, he could admire Peeta's affluent form; his strong, curvaceous figure was more intense than an acidic crow and sexier than Mary Poppins. Haymitch involuntarily gyrated in Peeta's general direction. Peeta cackled coyly, his bulging fish-eyes looking at the floor. He clutched at his solar plexus, trying to control his emotions. He couldn't take his eyes off Haymitch's fly-as body beneath his peeling string vest. He could almost see the sweat trickling down Haymitch's discoid beer belly. He so wanted to grind. He only wished Haymitch was a bit less brobdignagian 'down below'. He was worried.

Haymitch wiggled his bushy brows enticingly, inviting the portly son to taste his corpus. Peeta was powerless against such seduction, and began to travel over to the crate on which the suave bruiser squatted.

Haymitch knew that Peeta was ultra juvenile for him, but he was pumped and knew he was in love with the hackney launch pad.

"Eh, Peeta, why don't you come over here and give yer old mentor a hug?" Haymitch suggested casually.

Peeta was thrilled. His natural impulse was to launch his podgy bum into Haymitch's open bingo-wings, but he didn't want to lose control and make Haymitch think he was easy or desperate.

Suddenly, Haymitch could bear it no more. "I love you Peeta!" he roared, staggering over to where the britches wearing young'un was simpering. "You buxom pidgeon!"

Peeta bum-rapped with horror. "Wait, Hay!" He squawked, backtracking like a Tonka truck. "I'm saving myself for... um... someone special." Peeta knew exactly who he was saving himself for, but didn't want to admit his attraction for the beastly crone Katniss. Haymitch guffawed like a cream on steroids.

"Am I not your ultimate grind?" he flummoxed, his string vest disintegrating beneath his clammy mano. His chesticles bounced like beach balls that had been swept out to sea during a storm and were now floating on the waves. Peeta very nearly wet himself, but managed to retain his composure. He minced towards Haymitch and rasped coyly

"Katniss need not know..."

Haymitch grabbed a handful of Peeta's outsize flares and wrestled them free of his whopper rump. The baker giggled with joy and slid Haymitch's bio-hazard of a vest from his pulsating bread-basket, running his chubby dedos over the moonscape that was Haymitch's super-massive bottom. Haymitch heaved himself on top of the jolly artisan, accompanied by a tremendous grunt and the scent of emerging dung. Peeta throbbed with pleasure and felt his opticals widen to the size of Tibetan gongs as he took in the sight of Haymitch's generous "cornucopia".

"Oh, Hay!" Peeta warbled, passion covering him like an egg wash. Haymitch gyrated, broaching out sea shanties at the top of his lungs, his spindly arms swinging powerfully to seize his bitty gamin. Peeta clutched Haymitch's blancmange torso and kneaded it like the dough he so loved.

"Oh Haymitch. What a special night. Your cornucopia, and your sweet buns!"

The ancient and the infant, both as fat as they were in love, dragged a sweaty, moth infested blanket over their fluctuating forms as they made love on a crusty futon.

And so, the slim blue train swerved into the distance, its chuntering wheels disguising the sweet crowing from the room of the 50th victor.

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><p><strong>I hope you enjoyed it! Please review. <strong>

**Check out my other stories too, if you like! **

**Love, Septimus.**


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